


Pokémon Snow

by MrsCox



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, My little gays, Pokemon GO - Freeform, cute flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCox/pseuds/MrsCox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon, Baz, and Pokémon Go. I want to say enough said, so I will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pokémon Snow

**_Just a stupid Pokémon Go, Snowbaz oneshot I thought of when I had to pick a team. Still haven’t, if you were curious. Anyway, enjoy!_ **

Warnings: Two adorable gays

Word Count: 1,723  
________________________________________  
****

**_BAZ_ **

My nose twitches as Snow clears his throat for a third time, my focus bouncing between the book on my lap and his obvious need for attention. I last another fifteen minutes, ignoring the insistent nudge of his socks against my loafers and his hand splayed on my knee. It isn’t until he lets out a long suffering sigh (heavy on the dramatics, this one) that I drag my gaze up from his fingernails (chipped but clean).

“ _Well_ ,” his lips stretch into a smile when he notices my eyes on him, “wait do you think?”

My eyebrow quirks up as quickly as he stands, his wings fluttering excitedly as he twirls. “You’re certainly…yellow?” He glances down, first at his golden socks (the bottoms stained black from the floor he swore he swept, the idiot), then to his buttery shorts, hovering just over his knees and sitting low on his waist. My stare skips over the brightness of his t-shirt (for fear of blinding) and finally settles on the streaks of yellow painted across his cheeks and combed through his curls. I would say he’s absolutely ridiculous…but it’s not a terrible look for him.

“Thanks,” he decides, his hands settling triumphantly on his hips and his eyes sparkling. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“You were vomited on by a bee hive?”

He rolls his eyes, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. “Don’t be daft, Baz. I’d be black and yellow if that happened.”

“I suppose I give up then,” I say, tempted to keep teasing him if only to watch the annoyed flush of pink pool in his cheeks and his lips twist into a smirk. “Why exactly do you look like something a gorilla would drool over?”

“ _Baz_ ,” he groans, exasperated, “I have to rep my team.” 

Dropping my book to the side, I press my elbows to my knees, considering him with renewed interest. “Am I to believe that you, Simon Snow, actually joined a sport? And that someone believed you coordinated enough to actually _want_ you?”

He brushes away my incredulity, digging his toe into the floor as he grins. “No, nothing like that.” He pauses, scratching at the back of his head. “Or maybe something like that, but cooler. Definitely cooler than football at least.”

I feel the corners of my mouth tick up without permission. “Excuse me?”

“I’d say no offense, but…” he shrugs, collapsing on my lap with his legs kicking behind him happily. His tail pokes at my stomach, and I swat it away. “Anyway, since you’re terrible at guessing games – “

His wing smacks into my chin as he twists to face me. “Right,” I snort, “ _I’m_ terrible.”

“ – I’ll have to just say it. I joined Team Instinct!” He flicks at a stray lock of hair on my cheek, his expression expectant. I’m not sure for what exactly. Jubilance? Ecstasy? Pure, unadulterated magickal joy? Needless to say, he seems less than pleased when all he’s met with is cool disinterest.

“And that would be…?”

He gapes up at me, horror warring with irritation as he shoves himself up and off my lap. “You can’t be serious!” He cries, hassling his hair with yellow-dyed fingertips. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re just trying to take the piss, are as oblivious as Penny says I am, or if being a vampire means you don’t know how to have fun.”

“You still have yet to explain yourself,” I yawn, leaning back against the couch and taking his legs along with me. “Even though you’ve managed to say an unnecessary amount of words.”

“Pokémon Go!” He exclaims, throwing his arms out and nearly catching me in the nose. I can’t remember the last time a conversation with Snow was this lethal to my health. “You know? The App? Where you, like, walk around and there are Pokéstops and Pokémon and you catch them and it’s AWESOME!”

“Oh,” I school my expression into something of disdain, making sure to bury the smile threatening to dance across my lips underneath miles and miles of sneer. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t think I can be bothered.” His eyes widen comically, and it takes all the control I have to stop my bark of a laugh from escaping past clenched teeth.

“How could you – you’re ly – you are the – _Crowley_ , you _cannot_ be _serious_!”

“And just like that, Simon Snow is on repeat,” I murmur, my fingers tapping a beat against his bouncing ankle. “If it makes you feel any better, I would play it, if it weren’t for uni, and my job, and the fact that I happen to be a taxpaying adult.”

He shudders, folding his arms across his chest with a harrumph. “I can’t believe I’m dating one of _those_ people.” I tilt my head, arching an eyebrow up at his obvious agitation. (His tail darts from side to side, and if I were a cautious man, I would stop speaking. It won’t be the first time his frustration ends in a near decapitation.) (And I rather enjoy my head where it is.)  “Oh, you know. Those people who are too cool, or ‘mature’ to play something so obviously wicked.”

“Oh, there are more of us?” I ask, stroking a finger along my chin. He shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and stealing my phone from my pocket.

“I’m going to fix you,” he decides, “I mean, not fix, never fix because normally I would think you’re perfect – “

“You flatter me,” a blush floods into his neck, past his already pink cheeks and up into the tips of his ears, but he barrels on virtually unmolested.

“ – _But_ I don’t think I can date someone who thinks they’re too good for Pokémon Go,” he unlocks my phone without a moment of hesitation, and suddenly teasing him loses it’s enjoyment.

“Wait, Snow,” I reach for my phone, but he bats my hand away, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Weird, you already have the app,” he murmurs. I brush his legs off my thighs, lunging forward and frowning when he scoots back, keeping my phone just out of reach. “Okay, it’s loading. It shouldn’t take too long to get you to level five, I mean it took me a bit but then I caught a Charmander, and that brought me over the top. Anyway we’ll get you to level five and then we’ll be on Team Instinct toget – “

“Snow,” I cry, pouncing on top of him and trying to claw my phone from his hand, “please, no!”

His eyes stay on my screen for a moment longer, my protests hitting deaf ears as his betrayed gaze dashes up to meet my sorrowful one. “Baz,” he whispers, “tell me you didn’t.”

“Let’s just talk about this.” I plead, slowly inching away from him. “There’s no need to overreact.”

“Tell. Me. You. _Didn’t!_ ” He repeats, waving my phone at me.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I try to explain, holding my hands out as he prowls towards me, his expression darkening the closer he gets. “And I just figured you’d never find out.”

“Team MYSTIC!” He wails, throwing my phone down with what would be a humorous slam if not for his glower. “How could you choose them?! They’re Team _Boring_ , and you don’t even look good in blue!”

“First of all,” I sneer with an eye roll, “I look good in most colors, well except for grey, and it’s a shade so it hardly even counts.” He shrugs, still staring down at my phone as if it’s personally offended him. “And second of all, it’s not like any of the other teams would have been suitable options.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, those annoyingly disarming blue eyes narrowing into slits.

“Well, there’s Team hothead,” I flutter my fingers over to Penny and Simon’s red curtains. “And then there’s your team, and no offense Simon, but when has following your gut ever ended well for anyone?” He forgets to look angry long enough to bump his shoulders up into a pitiful shrug. “Now imagine an entire team of failed Chosen Ones.”

“Whatever,” he sniffs, “Penny’s gonna be so mad when she hears about this. She wanted us all to be on the same team.”

I shrink back into the couch, making sure to stay as far from his wings and that destructive tail as possible before giving him a rueful smile. “Well, when I got to level five a few weeks ago,” he braces, preparing himself for what he can tell will be terrible news, “so did Bunce. And we sort of decided to be Team Mystic…together.”

Simon blinks owlishly over at me for seconds that stretch out into hours, before flailing onto his back, his wings coming around him like a cocoon. “Why are you two the absolute _worst_!?”

“Shouldn’t you be happy?” I ask sweetly. “That we’re getting along?” He peeks at me from behind his arm, his mouth twisting into a thoughtful frown. “Once you catch a Pikachu together, it’s quite impossible not to be friends.”

He leaps up, so quickly that I lose my balance and fall back against the armrest. “You caught a Pikachu?” His hands curl around my shoulders, and I know I’ve got him back. “How? Where? What did it look like?”

“Why don’t you let me know once you’ve caught one of your own?”

“Deal,” he nods, shooting me an impish grin. “And, just letting you know,” he tacks on with sugar in his voice, “failed or not, being the Chosen One lends itself nicely to being the very best.”

“Oh?” I reply, propping my arms up behind my back. “Is that a challenge, Snow?”

He crawls forward, crowding into my space with his eyes gliding down to my mouth for a moment too long to be anything but inappropriate. “It’s a promise, Pitch.”

He presses his lips to mine, his tongue sneaking into my mouth with a stealth that makes me think that maybe he will be as good as he swore. 

With his fingers burning against my cool skin, his hands slips down from my neck and underneath my shirt, and just as I struggle to swallow back a moan, he pulls away. “But, like, no plotting, all right?” He murmurs, his breath brushing against my nose. “From you or Penny or anyone.”

“Aleister almighty, _Simon_!”


End file.
